


Everything...

by AGirloftheSouth



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirloftheSouth/pseuds/AGirloftheSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the middle of the night. Oliver is no around.  Connor is alone with his thoughts.  </p>
<p>What I'd "like" to see happen come 2x08.  Obviously, probably isn't what is going to happen.  Spoilers for season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything...

**Author's Note:**

> First time playing with these guys and they were, unsurprisingly, a lot of fun. 
> 
> This is unbetaed and might just be a mess, so for any mistakes I humbly apologize.
> 
> This will probably be blown to bits come Thursday, but hopefully somebody will enjoy it before then.

Everything...

 

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. – C.S. Lewis.

 

Connor Walsh had dismembered a man.  He’d witnessed Wes killing Sam.  He’d participated in setting the man on fire.  Then, almost single handedly, dismembered him.  He still had nightmares about it. And was plagued by the almost constant fear that they were going to be found out and he was going to go to jail. 

And none of that was as bad as this. 

Not even close.

Oliver.

Missing.

Oliver dead.  

Well, they didn’t know he was dead.  But Connor knew.  He had to be.  Oliver would have called him otherwise. 

Oliver wouldn’t have let him worry.

Connor had settled in the kitchen of Annalise’s house.  Sitting on the floor in the far corner hoping the ground would swallow him up and that this would all be over. 

Because nothing else mattered. 

He smiled, a sadistic horrible smile. 

He’d never done boyfriends before. 

Stupid, stupid Oliver had changed that.  And it had been wonderful. 

And it had gotten him killed. 

The penalty didn’t fit the crime. 

Loving Connor Walsh was a stupid move.  But it shouldn’t land you with a potentially deadly virus.  And it shouldn’t end in your murder.

But it had.

Stupid. Stupid. Oliver.

Connor let out a quiet laugh and buried his face in his hands. 

He just wanted to die.  If Oliver was dead, he probably would.  The thought of living even a single day without him was unimaginable.  It made Connor feel weak; he didn’t understand that.  When had Oliver become his strength?  When had Oliver become as fundamental to him as food and water? As oxygen?

Oliver was everything.  Absolutely everything.

Connor could hear them all talking in the other rooms. Frank had gone through the apartment and the thought turned Connor’s stomach.  Frank, the bastard who’d encouraged this, combing through their home. 

But he was Frank.  And Frank was to blame, but he would also take care of it.  Frank wasn’t a friend, but he certainly wasn’t an enemy.  At least not now.  Frank would find Phillip and he would find Oliver. 

And if Oliver was dead, Connor would kill him.  Connor would probably kill them all.  If only he could get angry.  It’d be so much better if he was angry.  Things would happen.  Problems would be solved. 

But he couldn’t.  He was too scared.  Too sad.  Too exhausted.  

Michaela had mentioned going to the police.  Connor had heard her and wasn’t sure how he felt about that. They would have to eventually Connor knew.  The police would get involved when they found Oliver’s body.  Connor could picture it clearly.  Oliver dead like the bitch racist aunt.  Or shot like the parents. 

Oliver exsanguinated.  Connor would identify him.  Oliver would look like he was sleeping.  Connor liked to watch him sleep, so peaceful and just adorable. 

_You’re hotter than me._

Silly, insecure Oliver. 

Oliver with the small mole on his neck.  Connor liked to kiss it when Oliver came, back arched, breath held.  Oliver’s ticklish, and Connor likes to run his fingers up exposed ribs and earn giggles.  Oliver who hums and sings all the time.  ALL. THE. TIME.  It used to annoy Connor when he was studying, but two weeks ago when Oliver had gone to bed early, Connor found he couldn’t concentrate without Selena Gomez’s current hit coming to him from the kitchen.  Oliver who never showed a hint of embarrassment of knowing Selena Gomez’s song. 

Beautiful Oliver. 

Oliver who would never again watch shyly while Connor got dressed.  Who would never pick a ridiculous fight just so they could make up.  Oliver really liked making up, and Connor liked what making up did to Oliver.  What making up made Oliver do to him. 

The police were going to come here and tell him that Oliver was dead.  Found dead in some ditch because of the stupid Hapstalls.  Stupid secret baby that never would have come about if Connor had listened to Michaela and not looked into the adoption records.  It wouldn’t have happened if Connor had simply refused to keep using Oliver. 

The police were going to come here and tell him that Oliver was dead because Connor had been so stupid and selfish and Annalise Keating had ruined absolutely everything.  She had manipulated and controlled and protected them all into submission and it had cost him everything. 

She was also the reason he had met Oliver at all.  The reason he’d gone into that bar and pretended to be a banker.  And given the circumstances Connor selfishly admitted to himself he’d do it all again. 

The police were going to come here and tell him that Oliver was dead and given the choice Connor would do it again.  Do every single thing but Pax.  He wanted that time back.  Wanted Oliver back. 

Connor closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cabinet. 

He was going to have to talk to Oliver’s parents.  The police would notify them, Connor knew, but he’d have to talk to them.  Explain.  Explain that he was dead too. Explain that Oliver was everything and that Connor was sorrier than he could express.  Connor had ruined their son.  Cheating. HIV. Murdered.  If Connor had stayed away then none of it would have happened. 

Oliver would be alive.  Maybe still be hooking up with the guy with the arms.  Be happy.  Be healthy. 

It was all Connor’s fault. 

Everyone knew it.  They were talking about it in the other room.  Whispered words about how Oliver was gone.  Oliver was dead.  Connor was to blame. 

Connor who’d done everything he could think of to protect Oliver. 

Oliver who didn’t want to be protected.  Oliver who wanted to protect him.  Because he loved Connor. 

Connor knew that as much as he knew that he loved Oliver. 

They’d been in love and it was over now. 

And he was going to have to talk to Oliver’s parents who hated him and explain that it was all his fault and that he’d loved Oliver more than anything.  More than anyone had ever loved anyone, ever. 

Oliver who was dead. 

Connor wanted to call his Mom.  Have her come here, maybe with Gemma and tell him it would be all right.  Tell him what to do and explain what needed to be done. 

She’d come of course.  Come when they found out about Oliver and support Connor.  She was an excellent mom like that.  She’d come even though she’d never met Oliver.  They’d been planning on going to Michigan for Thanksgiving, maybe for Christmas too if Oliver’s parents ended up going away. Or, Connor knew despite Oliver not telling him, if they refused to let Connor come with him.  Oliver wouldn’t go without Connor. 

Connor hated that he was the cause of problems between them.  But they weren’t real problems.  Oliver was a good son.  An excellent son.  The best.  And Connor was going to have to talk to Oliver’s parents and tell them they were right.  Connor had been horrible for him.

The front door opened and Connor vaguely wondered if that was the police.  There was commotion.  Michaela letting out a little scream.  Laurel and Asher talking over each other.  Frank mumbling something and there was a crashing sound.  None of it mattered. 

This was it, Connor thought.  The end.  The confusion.  The panic. 

“Connor!” Wes said.  But it didn’t matter.  He didn’t want to know.  He didn’t want to be told. 

The commotion continued.  Voices overlapping.  Annalise getting louder, yelling “Let him go.” 

Connor started to listen.  He started to hear.  Something familiar.  A panicked voice.  A desperate stop.  

Connor looked up, shadows in the hall.  Voices.  Connor focused, trying to hear. Trying to understand.  Something was wrong.  Something was going on. Struggling.  A voice he didn’t recognize.  A voice he thought he did. 

He pushed himself up.  Listening.  Frowning.  Walking toward the hall.

Yelling.

And Oliver.  Oliver appearing the doorway.  Pale.  Scared.  Clothes askew.

“Connor,” he said.  And Connor stopped dead.  Starring. Shaking his head.  Tears welling in his eyes.  

It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be. 

Oliver was dead.

Oliver moved towards him. Panicked.  Terrified. Even more than he had when he’d told Connor he was HIV positive.  When he was certain that Connor would leave.  Connor would never leave. 

Anger. Connor saw a hint of the anger a second before Oliver slammed against him.  They stumbled against the island, and Connor returned the hug.  Gasping in a breath as the tears came.

He smelled like the day.  And soap.  And Oliver. 

Beautiful, wonderful Oliver. 

Connor let out a sob and buried his face in Oliver’s neck.  The need to touch swelling in Connor until it became panic and he reached around, pulling Oliver’s dress shirt out of his pants and flattening his palm on Oliver’s back. 

It was Oliver.  It was real.

Oliver was here and he was alive and he was fine.  At least he looked fine. 

“Ollie,” Connor managed pushing back enough to be heard, his voice breaking with the panic and the tears.  “Are you…”

“Fine,” Oliver said, pulling Connor close again.  Fingers wove through Connor’s hair and Connor could feel his own desperation coming off his boyfriend in waves. 

The fear. The terror. The panic.  Shared between them. 

Connor pulled back again and pressed his lips against Oliver’s.  It deepened immediately and nothing else mattered.  Connor pulled Oliver’s shirt out the rest of the way.  Hands squeezing between them, Oliver moaning as a Connor brushed a nipple with his thumb.  There was a hand on Connor’s ass squeezing and pulling him forward.  And tongues fought for control as it all came crashing down. 

Fear. Panic.  Life. Death.  The fight. The risks.  Phillip fucking secret Hapstall baby.

The world was swirling, swelling and Oliver pulled away.  Connor whimpered, fingers digging into narrow hips.  Oliver was gasping, but leaned away when Connor tried to continue. 

“Phillip,” Oliver said, desperate to catch his breath.  “He knows.  He saw.”

The murders, Connor realized, shaking his head. The Hapstall murders.  All of them. None of them. He didn’t care.  This mattered.  Oliver mattered. 

Very much alive Oliver. 

Connor was going to take him home.  Put ten new locks on the door and then have sex with Oliver for the next two weeks.  Maybe three.

Fuck him until they left for Michigan and then fuck him the whole time they were there.

Never, ever let Oliver out of his sight again. 

“You have to hear what…”

“I don’t care,” Connor said, putting his forehead against Oliver’s and holding him close.

Everything.  

“Hear him,” Oliver said, hand still on Connor’s ass and giving it another squeeze. “Then take me home. Please God, take me home.”

Connor frowned, but nodded.  He’d do whatever Oliver wanted.  Whatever Oliver needed. 

“Are you okay?” Connor finished it this time and Oliver smiled. 

“Worst night ever,” he said. 

“Worst night ever,” Connor repeated, thinking of Sam Keating and knowing it wasn’t a lie. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks!


End file.
